Obsessive Harry
by The Straight Elf
Summary: Just something I wrote if Harry had OCD. I doubt I'm doing it justice, but it shouldn't be unreadable. Note: Each chapter covers a different mental illness.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I'm stuck on all the other stories I'm trying to write, and I read an article that inspired me to write this one. I do not have any mental illnesses that I know of, and am just trying to put it into words. It didn't come out like I'd meant it to, and I'm not completely pleased with it, but it shouldn't be unreadable.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

The Dursley family never really liked Harry Potter, but they never hated him either. They couldn't hate someone who was so _normal – _at least to them.

Harry had been described by his teachers as extremely neat and organized, and was by far the cleanest boy in the school. At home, he was constantly straightening things, tweaking things to perfection. Even the Dursleys, who had ensured that their home was practically sterile, were amazed at their perfect house.

He did all of his chores and school work perfectly, and would spend hours at a time fixing the smallest mistakes.

No one knew that he constantly redid all of his assignments, as the smallest eraser mark or torn area from his constant erasing and adding of details that no one would notice. The smallest error struck a deep chord of fear with him, made him want to scream. Everything had to be perfect, or everything would go terribly, terribly wrong.

Harry knew he was different, and he always wanted to be normal and fit in with his classmates.

But he was constantly hiding his problems, afraid that his relatives would label him a freak and that the doctors would laugh at him. Besides, he seemed to make everybody else happy.

And his life was still relatively normal until the letters arrived. At first he simply delivered them to his uncle, who looked as though he would explode in rage before calming himself and telling him to leave. Harry did so, and went to wash his hands. Who knew what could have been on that letter.

When even more letters began to fly in a few weeks later, Harry's chest constricted and panic rose within him. Those letters shouldn't be here! They could be infected with something, he didn't knew where they'd been!

"No, no…" he muttered, keeping himself as far away from the streams of letters bursting in through the window. The boy followed his ordinary route outside of the room and busied himself with tweaking a picture frame that appeared to be lopsided, and tried to get his mind off of the slowly vanishing panic.

The moment Vernon decided that they should leave in order to escape the mysterious letters, Harry was terrified. Couldn't they see that it would be better to just stay?

But he went, eyes dilated and chest constricting all the while. The moment they entered the hotel for the night, Harry was worrying about every possible thing to get his mind off of the mind-numbing anxiety he was experiencing.

Who would take care of the house while they were gone? Would it be dirty and filled with diseased?

Would somebody tend the flower beds and make sure that the plants were perfect?

And the panic only got worse as they got onto the rickety boat, and Harry's carefully perfected routine and stable world was completely shattered when they got into the shack.

It was so _dirty_, he shuddered. He hurriedly worked on tidying the meager furniture up and dusting the dirt and sand off of the beds. The Dursleys did not speak to him, and they went to bed.

The overriding terrible panic kept him awake, and he couldn't ignore the dirt. He found the old sink in the corner and a bottle of soap he had brought along with him, and scrubbed the dirt off his hands until they were practically raw. He ignored the pain, and focused on fulfilling the need to be clean. It made him feel a little bit better, relieved in a way.

It wasn't until Hagrid arrived and he was unwillingly whisked away to a magical society that his problem began to truly torture him.

He _needed_ to get back to Privet Drive. This place was _dirty_, and _unfamiliar_, and didn't have a sink anywhere. The man who had taken him made him touch the unfamiliar, germ-covered instruments. And that old man made him touch the wands, no matter how he shuddered and asked for them to be disinfected.

They just look at him oddly and then made him continue.

The magical world would not be kind to him.


	2. Chapter 2: Paranoid Personality Disorder

A/N: Hope you enjoy it. As always, review.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Harry was always cautious and careful. He never trusted the adults in his life, knowing that behind their kind smiles and faces were sadistic monsters just waiting for him to show weakness. They said they wanted to help him and protect him, but he knew better. The moment he gave them something they would use it against him. He might not know how, but they would find a way.

He was sure of it.

Their presents were attempts to buy him, their candy an attempt to get him to trust them. And he was too smart for that. Harry knew what they were doing, and he would not give in.

Even the other children that had befriended him once Dudley and his followers began to leave him alone could not be trusted. They could be plotting behind his back, trying to get a chance to hurt him when he least expected it.

They were just using him, he knew. Using him as a way to protect them. They knew that he was smart, and they knew that bad things happened to people who hurt him. And they were trying to take that from him, leave him defenseless against all of the others.

But he knew what they were up to. And he wouldn't let them profit from him.

He knew that the other children had to be talking to Dudley behind his back, giving the fat boy ammunition against him. They probably gathered up every little piece of information he dropped and delivered it faithfully to their obese master.

They were all just waiting for him to make a mistake before they rounded on him and tried to break him. But Harry was too smart for that. He would never make a mistake.

When one of Dudley's little followers spread a rumor about him, trying to turn the others against him even more than he was sure they already were, he made sure that the boy would stop plotting against him.

The boy mysteriously broke his arm, and stopped telling lies about Harry.

The other children whispered as he walked amongst them, and he knew that the Dursleys had somehow turned the teachers and kids against him. They had it out for him, just like all of the other adults.

But he wouldn't let them know that he knew what they were up to, or they might come up with some new plot that he wouldn't be able to find out. They were cunning, he knew, even if they didn't look like it.

He was careful around the children that flocked around him. They were gathering information for Dudley, they were spying on him! There was no other explanation for it. They always wanted to know things.

But Harry never let them know things; he was too cunning for them. He gave them fake details about his life, spun them a lie so that they would give false information back to the teachers and the Dursleys.

Finally, he realized that he had to make sure they would never use anything against him. Harry controlled them, dominated them. He had to make sure he was safe, that they wouldn't be able to plot against him.

The teachers tried to tell him that he was wrong, that he was bullying the other students. But they were wrong, he wasn't a bully. He was protecting himself from the plots that the entire school was spinning around him, trying to break him. And the teachers were probably trying to help the plot, try to convince him, try to _lie_ to him, that they weren't trying to hurt him.

But he knew they were, he could see it in their calculating eyes and glances. They looked at him with worried faces, but he knew they weren't worried about him, they were worried that he knew about their plot and was fighting it.

When they started talking about him, he knew he had to make sure they would stop. He couldn't let these plots continue the way they were, couldn't let them turn everyone against him. Harry was sure that they were all against him anyways, but he had to keep them from plotting.

So he hurt them, making sure they would stop looking at him with their calculating gazes, stop offering the helping hands. He could see behind the innocent gesture and into the malicious intent meant. If they could get him to think they were his friends then they could hurt him much more easily.

But he knew their plan, and he was too smart for them.


End file.
